Black Coffee
by Queen of Lunacy
Summary: The coffee house looked normal. It was cozy and warm and had armchairs that made you feel like you were sitting on a cloud. It had adults who were craving caffiene and happy teens. Completely normal. But inside was a heart too broken to even try to mend.


Disclaimer: I do not in any way own the fabulous work of J.K Rowling and intend no copyright infringement through this story (have NO idea what that meant…)

Righty-O, time for the Author's Note… I'd just like to say this is my first fanfiction ever, so I would really appreciate if you didn't flame me. I would love to hear feedback and ways I can improve, so without further ado…

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**Black Coffee**

The coffee house looked normal. It was cozy and warm and had armchairs that made you feel like you were sitting on a cloud. It was filled with teenagers who broke into uproarious laughter every few minutes and tired adults trying to get their caffeine fix as soon as possible. Completely regular. But inside there's a broken heart that was too shattered to even try to mend.

She was sitting at the table nearest to the door. She stared at the huge cup of black coffee in front of her. She couldn't remember, was it her first cup, or her second. She prayed it was her second, it meant she could leave soon. She took a sip and the bitter taste coated her mouth and she felt her eyes fill with tears. _He _always used to take her here. He would always order a cup of black coffee to go and they would stroll along while he sipped and when he'd kiss her that was all she would taste.

She looked down at the paper in front of her. A sour taste filled her mouth as she stared at the headline, amplifying the bitter taste of the coffee. It said in bold letters "THE BOY WHO LIVED DOES NOT LIKE THE SPOTLIGHT a story by Rita Skeeter". She snarled at the headline, and stared at the picture. He was winking and waving at the camera. The snapshot was enough to contradict the headline completely. She never heard from him nowadays, the fame had got to him, his only friends were beautiful models and rich playboys (for wasn't he one of them now?)

She turned the page and looked at another headline. "RON WEASLEY: THE INSIDE STORY OF HARRY'S RIGHT HAND MAN a story by Rita Skeeter". At least they had stayed friends. Her eyes glossed over as she thought of her time with Ron. It had been a romantic affair, full of passionate kisses and sweet nothings. It was too sweet for him because after a month he was having a better time with Lavender. Now all she got was a postcard addressed to "Harmony" at Christmas showing him and Lavender canoodling. She would curse him for not even remembering her name, but she always kept them in a little box at the top of her closet.

She sniffed a little and looked around self consciously; no one could see her weak. She sighed and turned the page and she froze. Her mouth dried and she felt herself wanting to throw up all the coffee she had just drank. Why was he in the newspaper? She felt a tear slipping down her cheek as she stared at _him_. She wiped her tear; her one moment of weakness; and took the coffee as if it was a shot of tequila; it was ironic how it burned exactly like a shot would.

She remembered, it was her second cup. She almost jumped in the air and screamed for joy. She paid the amount (she had memorized it after coming here every morning for a year) and practically ran out. She apparated and landed on her apartment floor. She then let the tears flow freely and she cursed herself for caring so much. It had been a year, and she was still blubbering like a three year old would after dropping his ice cream.

She felt that taste, _his_ taste, coating every corner of her mouth and she rushed into her bathroom like she was insane (perhaps she was, she could never tell). She brushed it away, scrubbing her gums so hard that when she sat down on the side of her tub she winced painfully at her raw gums. But she felt happy as peppermint filled her mouth. She drowned in the refreshing taste. She closed her eyes and smiled as she imagined floating in a minty cloud. It would give her a chance to stop the monotonous routine she called life. She idly thought she had to buy mint flavoured gum (any brand would do, even a muggle one).

Then the nasty voice in her voice had to speak and destroy the one time in a year she had been at peace. "He used to taste like peppermint" it chimed in a smug voice. "He always did when you got sick of black coffee" it carried on. "But he always went back to it. He tasted like both, didn't he?" it cackled loudly, giving the wicked witch of the west a run for her money.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and screwed her eyes shut. But it only made the sound of the little devil louder. "He _never_ loved you; you were just a toy to make him feel high and mighty. You didn't really think he would ever love you, you represented everything he hated. He set out to ruin you, and he accomplished his mission."

She got up and paced shouting anything to drown out the words that came from the aggravating voice. "Look at yourself!" Her head jerked to the mirror and she stared at herself. Her hair was more out of control then in 1st Year. Her eyes had shadows under them and she looked underweight.

Her twin trapped inside the mirror seemed to take on its own voice, a voice that echoed in her head, matching the voice she had heard just minutes ago and moved around freely. "Poor wittle Hermione, stuck in her stupid daydreams," it pouted at her and shook her head "All you wanted was love, and to be needed, but nobody needed you". She laughed and smirked cruelly, a spot on imitation of the boy she once loved. "He put you up on a high pedestal, petted you, and comforted you when you were down about your 'friends'. The only reason he did that was because when he got tired of you, he could push you off and watch you fall, watch you cry, watch you suffer. The higher the fall, the harder the land". It burst into another mad spout of cackles.

"SHUT UP!" The sound of her voice reverberated around her small apartment as she smashed the mirror. The cracked version of her smiled and said "And now you're talking to yourself, he didn't just get to see what he wanted to, he won." And just as suddenly as the voice had appeared, it disappeared. The mirror was back to normal, the girl inside imitated every thing she did. Was it a dream? It seemed so clear.

She felt like she would suffocate, she was slowly choking in her apartment. She needed air, she needed to run. She wanted to feel the burning feeling in her chest, because she had been numb for so long. She walked out and looked at the one undamaged mirror. A girl she didn't recognize stared back. She sighed and put on some makeup to hide her shadows and a colourful scarf that almost blinded her. She had to keep up appearances, it was the only thing that kept her alive now. It was the reason by she always went to his favourite coffee hut and ordered his favourite drink (two of them). It wasn't because she thought she might see him, no, it was because she needed to be strong (or appear to be). Strong people didn't smash mirrors because they thought it was talking to her. At this point, the appearance of strength was all she had.

She apparated to the park and breathed in the air as if she had just been locked in a room full of poisonous gases (it felt like she had been). She looked around and started sprinting. She forgot how much she loved running. It gave her control; she always went too fast to even think. But everywhere she went she saw something that reminded her of him; a flash of blonde or silver eyes as piercing as his. It scared her; she had never been out of control when running, so she stopped. The burning pain in her chest and the pounding pain in her muscles as they locked up in protest made her smile. She closed her eyes as she leant over breathing hard.

She opened her eyes and for the second time that day she froze, a smile still on her face. _He _was there. On one knee. By their special spot that were surrounded by rose bushes (they had been her favourite). Her breathe caught in her throat as she looked at him smiling up at the blonde girl that looked like she was 16 and wore clothes that looked like they belonged to a 9 year old (maybe she should have worn tight clothes). She watched as the girl screamed an enthusiastic "yes" and immediately grabbed the ring and put it on. She watched it glimmer in the sunlight and tears began to fall down.

He picked his new fiancé up and swung her around, but dropped her as soon as he saw her. His eyes flashed with recognition and for a second something flashed in his eyes. It looked like sorrow, but it was too quick, for all that replaced it was a steely hate. She smiled a thin lipped smile and turned away walking as slowly as she could. She presumed it would start raining; it seemed like the thing that would happen when her already damaged heart was stabbed, ripped into pieces and put through a meat grinder.

She didn't have the heart to smile that her prediction had been right as a raindrop fell on her head. And then another and another. She looked up at the dark angry skies and she felt approving of whatever was up there. They should feel angry, he had done her wrong, and she screamed along with the thunder, thankful that the sound of war drums in the sky drowned out her weakness. She let the tears drip down her face, because who would know? That was what she loved about rain; no one could ever tell you were crying.

That ring was supposed to be her ring! That princess wedding she had dreamed of since she was six belonged to her, not some blonde idiot. She was the smartest witch of their generation, all the fame and glory was hers, but was taken away. She had been cheated of so many things but she could never show how she truly felt.

Because Hermione Granger could never be weak, even if Draco Malfoy had mangled her heart beyond recognition and humiliated her in front of the entire wizarding world. She was everyone's rock, people leaned on her. She was depended on and she couldn't let anyone down.

So the next morning she would return to the coffee hut and sip her black coffees and ponder how ironic it was that love was like black coffee. You always expected it to be great, but in the end it just leaves you with a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. She wouldn't let on that she had showed great weakness the day before, that she had cracked, because she was everyone's rock; and a rock never cracked, right?

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AND SCENE! I know this ruins the whole tragedy mood, but I like saying "AND SCENE!" So tell me what you think! Loved it? Hated it? And if you hated it, I'd like to hear why you hated it, not just that "it was a piece of crap" and if you loved it, I'd also like to hear why you loved it (EVERY SINGLE DETAIL :P). So looking forward to reading your reviews (yes, I am one of those that get ecstatic after receiving one review:D)

This has been an author's note from,

_The Queen of Lunacy_


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